


Butterfly

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drabble, Drama, Fluff, M/M, Slash, The Quidditch Pitch: The Changing Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-02-04
Updated: 2007-02-04
Packaged: 2018-10-26 13:25:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10787574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Like the Monarch, Harry and Ron have perfect symmetry.





	Butterfly

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes: Second installement in the 50 word prompt table. This one is metaphorical and is tiny bit more naughtier.  


* * *

Harry and I, together, can outshine the Monarch Butterfly. It sounds pretentious, but we’re stunning, really.

Monarch Butterflies are black and orange.

Well, what are the two most obvious colors on Harry and me? Just look at Harry’s unruly black hair and my vivid orange hair (everybody calls it ginger just to be polite, but I know it’s really orange).

You might think the colors would clash (orange doesn’t go with anything), but they don’t because black matches anything it chooses.

I just got lucky that Harry chose me.

A Monarch Butterfly starts off as a wriggling little caterpillar; content to just eat and crawl along his way, trying to stay out of trouble and avoid his enemies. Harry and I weren’t good caterpillars. We were always in far too much trouble, and more often than not, we were forced to engage our enemy in open combat.

We weren’t good caterpillars.

The next stage in the Butterfly’s development is to form a cocoon. Harry and I were very good at that. After spending nearly two years hunting down the Horcruxes, fighting in a war that we were too young to be involved with anyway (let alone be at the head of), and finally taking down Voldemort, we were only too happy to cocoon ourselves in our small, shared flat.

Several of our friends and family tried to pry open our cocoon; tried to make us come out of our flat and face the world. I know they all meant well, but they just didn’t understand.

The development of a creature such as the Monarch Butterfly is beautiful, but fragile and complicated. If we’d had only one misstep, if one of us had lost our coloring in any way, our wings would have crumbled, shattered under their own weight and we would have both died.

But the cocoon we built was strong and we survived the morphing process. Our colors blended and balanced, and when we emerged, Harry and I were weary and weak, but so very beautiful.

We slowly, surely, opened and stretched our wet wings into a small patch of sunshine. After a bit of flexing, of getting used to our new form and having the world get used to us, we realized that our wings could rival the brilliance found in the holiness of a church’s stained glass.

Our wings could keep the rhythm of beating hearts.

When Harry and I make love, our wings wrap around each other, almost as if we are forming another protective cocoon, and his black and my orange glow effervescent, like the first dawn the Gods ever saw fit to bestow upon the Earth. When we thrust and our wings beat, it’s like the stirrings of the first wind that will eventually be felt around the world to rustle the trees and swirl hurricanes.

And we balance more perfectly than the Monarch’s wings could ever hope for.  



End file.
